


High Iron Content

by JJMarmite



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-09-18 11:15:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJMarmite/pseuds/JJMarmite
Summary: Harry hasn't been seen in a while, Ron and Hermione are worried. He's found a book. It's unlikely to end well.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have a feeling I may be misinterpreting the intended use of this website, but we shall see.  
> It's a silly story, written because the idea amused me.  
> Not really set at any particular time, but implicitly after Voldermort has come back. So year five plus, I guess.

There were times when it was easy to forget just how big Hogwarts actually was.

Day-to-day, if you just went to your lessons, the Great Hall for meals and then straight back to whichever common-room you called home you’d only ever see a fraction of it. Stray even a little off the beaten track and you would very quickly find out there was much, much more that most people had long forgotten about.

Ron and Hermione were remembering this. Everything had been familiar up until they’d taken a left turn that they had always just walked past before and now everything was new and - frankly - a little bit unfriendly. Shadows seemed deeper and darker, walls seemed closer in and to Ron’s immense lack of delight the spider population seemed to increase dramatically with every corner they turned 

“Are you sure he’s this way?” Hermione asked, clinging to Ron’s shoulder. He noticed her doing this, which in turn made her notice. Looking a little sheepish she stopped but didn’t move much further away from him, either.

Ron checked the map again. He hoped that he’d been wrong, even if it would be painful to admit it. His plans for the day had not involved going into dank, spooky parts of the castle. Ideally he would have been somewhere warm and nothing would be wrong. But the map said what it said and there wasn’t really much choice. Ron sulked.

“It’s what the map says,” he said, pointing. Hermione peered at it and sighed.

“Well at least it’s not far,” she said. Ever the optimist. They pressed on in silence.

By the time they actually got to where it was they were meant to be both of them were quite thoroughly lost, though neither would admit it. And that was with them holding a map, so this was a level of lost that neither of them had previously encountered. Getting back was going to be almost as much fun as getting there. They’d work that part out later. Standing in front of a heavy, plain door at the end of a dim corridor they exchanged nervous glances.

“Do we knock?” asked Ron. 

“Just open it!” Hermione hissed, conscious to keep her voice down and unconscious of how she shifted behind him as he inched closer to the door. Ron sighed and stepped up.

The handle was warm to the touch, which Ron thought was maybe a little odd, but it didn’t slow him down much. He had to put a bit of effort into opening it and needed both hands in the end though and the door clunked loudly as it swung open which made both of them wince. A blast of hot air hit them both with enough force to actually stop them in place for a moment. 

“Hello?” Ron asked, peering into the room. He could see nothing. Neither could Hermione. The door swung into the wall with a bang and they jumped and there was still nothing. They had already started sweating.

“We’re going to have to go in there, aren’t we?” Ron asked in a tiny voice. Hermione just gripped his arm more tightly. Swallowing, he took a step inside.

The room was stifling. At first neither of them could see anything of it beyond vague, dark shapes. The deeper in they got though and the more their eyes adjusted the more details they were able to make out. Anvils? That didn’t sound right. They moved closer to investigate and someone popped up beside them.

“Hi guys!”

Harry appeared so loudly and so suddenly that both of them very nearly jumped out of their skins. How he looked did not help at all, and being stripped to the waist was only the start.

It was clear he hadn’t bathed or slept in days. His hair was even messier than usual, matted to his head with sweat and grease, grime streaking his face, eyes sunken and shadowed. He was walking towards them with a limp and there was a darkly-stained bandage wrapped around his left hand. Despite all this, he looked happier than either of them had seen him looking in months.

“You won’t believe what I found! It’s amazing!” He said, moving back off into the gloom again, weaving around workbenches and anvils and ducking under hanging chains. Ron and Hermione followed as best they could, still stumbling in the darkness and sweating in the heat.

“You know, uh, Harry we’re getting a bit worried about you…” Ron said.

“You sort of disappeared and no-one really knew what it was you were doing…” Hermione added, stepping over something she couldn’t really make out and was rather glad she couldn’t.

“Oh I’ve been looking for solutions,” Harry said breezily. The way he moved through the room suggested he could probably have done it in the dark with his closed for good measure. The further into the room they got the hotter it got, a soft glow visible at the far end, throwing Harry into silhouette as he stopped in front of another workbench.

Now able to see, Ron and Hermione watched mutely as Harry started flicking through the hefty book that lay open amidst a sweep of discarded pliers and hammers and what looked curiously like metal shavings.

“Solutions?” Hermione probed, delicately. Harry laughed but did not look up.

“Solutions, yes! To the problem, you see? The Voldermort problem. A significant problem! I didn’t really know what I was looking for at first - just about anything, really - but oh I found it, I really found it,” he said, adjusting his glasses and leaning in closer to the pages.

“Yes! Yes, come, look,” he said, spinning the book around and knocking a few things to the floor but not seeming to notice or care. His friends shuffled closer and bent down, squinting in the gloom and scanning the page quietly for a moment or two. They weren’t entirely sure what they were meant to be looking for, but quickly worked out that was the least of their problems.

“What language is this?” Hermione asked.

“I don’t know, I can’t read it. But when look I at it I just...know what it’s trying to tell me, you know? Like I can feel it, like I’ve learnt it and am just remembering it. I can understand it but I can’t understand it. It’s hard to describe,” Harry said, running a hand back through his hair and somehow making it even messier.

Hermione did not reply, eyes drawn inexorably back to the book as she picked it up and started leafing through it without a word. Harry just grinned, which left Ron at a bit of a loose end.

“So...a solution?”

“Yes! Like nothing I’ve seen. The book has shown me...a vision. A perfect vision. It’s shown me what we need and what we need to do to make it work. So that’s what I’ve been doing. Ah! Let me show you something…” Harry said, dashing off to the side and leaving Ron standing on his todd, Hermione frowning and mouthing words that had no right to be in her mouth.

A moment or two later Harry returned, cradling something that he then placed in front of Ron. He set it on end and stood back so it could easily be seen and Ron saw to his surprise that it was, in fact, an arm. A metal arm, like that of a statue but cast from looked to be solid iron.

“Uh…” Ron said, not really sure what he was supposed to say about this.

“Touch it!” Harry said, smiling. Ron licked his lips and looked at the iron hand, glancing up to Hermione for direction only to see she that she looked about as confused and scared as he felt. He licked his lips again, tasting the sweat that ran down his face in the sweltering, oppressive heat.

“TOUCH IT!” Harry all-but screeched. Even Hermione jumped, though she didn’t stop reading. Ron couldn’t really do anything else at this point as he wasn’t getting any backup and, swallowing, he gingerly reached out and prodded the arm.

It wasn’t cold, which was wasn’t a huge surprise given the furnace-heat of the room, but it was far, far warmer than metal had any right to be. There was also something to it that he couldn’t explain. Unable to stop his curiosity he gave it a squeeze and found it hard, but yielding. It made him think of flesh. Hard, metal flesh. Nothing should have felt like that.

“What is this?” Ron asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Harry had to suppress a giggle.

“Living Iron, Ron! Living Iron! Iron that breathes! Iron with a living essence! It is possible!” Harry said, starting to laugh again. He murmured a few words under his breath and flexed his hand and the metal one moved in sympathy, mirroring his movements perfectly. Ron’s own hand snapped back instantly.

“I infused it with my own blood. Blood is the key, you see? Blood is life, vitality. Blood is what turns it from cold, lifeless metal to Living Iron. My blood, my will, my essence - it obeys me,” he said, smiling, eyes wide. Ron took a step back, looking aghast from the metal arm, to Harry, to Hermione and then switching back and forth between them, unsure which to be most worried about.

“Blood, you see? Blood. It was my blood that brought him back - only fitting that it should help take him out of the world again,” Harry said, grabbing Ron by the wrist and pulling him to the side. Ron yelped, but could do little else but allow himself to be led off towards a large object covered by a dust sheet.

“This is the first,” Harry said, gripping Ron hard enough to bruise with one hand while ripping away the sheet with the other, revealing a crudely-forged humanoid figure hanging from thick chains riveted firmly into the ceiling. 

“You made that?” Ron asked, eyes wide. Harry nodded so enthusiastically he nearly lost his glasses.

“The first one! Just think of it! An army of these iron soldiers! All obeying my commands without question or hesitation! The perfect weapon to secure lasting peace - to end this war before it’s even started!”

Harry deflated a little after this outburst, the smile melting from his face and his hand dropping from Ron’s wrist. He looked at the resting form of the iron man and trailed a finger across it, shoulders slumping. 

“They laughed at me, I know. They’re still laughing. Say that I’m making it all up, that he’s not really back. I’ll show them. I’ll save them all and then they’ll see. My iron children will make us all safe, they’ll see.”

Harry was quiet following this. Ron swallowed again. This was one of those moments where you had to pick your words carefully. Hermione would probably have known what to say but she was still reading the book back behind him and was no help.

“I don’t want to, you know, piss all over your hard work or anything but Harry you should probably go outside for a bit or maybe eat something?” Ron suggested. Harry did not move, and Ron got the distinct impression that he’d put his foot in it. Then Harry chuckled, turning around.

“You’re right. I’ll be no use to my children if I don’t take care of myself, will I? We should go have something to eat. Uh, what time is it? Is it lunchtime or dinnertime or breakfast or what?”

Ron decided to let the bit about the children slide for now, it was unlikely making a fuss about it would help much anyway. He’d ask Hermione about and they could deal with it later.

“Little after breakfast but it’s the weekend so brunch is an option,” Ron said. Harry nodded.

“Alright,” he said, squatting down to pick the sheet up and covering the iron man again. Ron had the distinct and uncomfortable impression of its chest rising and falling beneath the sheet but put it down to being a trick of the light.

“You should probably have a shower first or something, too,” Ron suggested as tactfully as he could. Harry paused, looking down at himself but apparently seeing nothing wrong.

“I should?” He asked.

“You should,” Ron said, adamant about this. He’d later also suggest Harry might want to put a shirt on but all things in time. Harry grinned again.

“You’re the boss! Lead on,” he said, gesturing. Ron moved back to Hermione and put a hand on her shoulder, making her jump. She looked rather pale.

“We’re going. Harry’s going to have a wash and we can all have some food,” Ron said to which Hermione muttered something incomprehensible and inaudible. Ron paused, peering at her a little closer.

“Hermione your eyes are bleeding,” he said.

“The metal lives,” she said, a smile spreading across her face.

Ron had the distinct impression this was the start of a very long day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shower and brunch has not cured Harry of whatever it is that got into him. Ron decides it might be best to play along for now. Hermione acts strangely. Plans are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have an idea in my head but I'm not sure what it is.

“The problem, I think, is a lack of control,” Harry said soberly, bacon flapping on the end of his fork. Hermione nodded as though this was the most profound thing she'd ever heard in her life. Ron just stared, eyes wide. He was tired. Things had been somewhat strained of late.

A shower and a change of clothes had not somehow miraculously cured Harry of whatever it was had come over him and he remained just as energised and motivated as he had been before. He barely stopped talking to let either of the other two get a word in edgewise, not that either had much to add to his non-stop stream-of-consciousness about Living Iron and how it was 'the solution'. They both just nodded, but only Hermione looked as though she meant it when she did.

Something a little odd had come over her, Ron noticed. Something a bit different about her. She was acting funny. Fanatical would be the word, if Ron had had to think of one. Fanatical and yet very deferential when it came to anything Harry had to say about his project. An enthusiastic supporter of his aims and methods, you might say. She was smiling a lot at least, even if it was a little unsettling sometimes just how wide it got.

At least her eyes had stopped bleeding.

“Yes, control, yes,” Hermione said as she nodded, missing her mouth with her own fork but not seeming to care much even as she scratched her cheek. Ron put his cutlery down. This was the worst brunch ever.

“You see, the prototype – my first son, heh – is presently inactive. I have run some tests with him, but he is proving...unstable. I feel my techniques were unrefined when I made him. Further experimentation is needed, of course,” Harry said, waving a hand as though all of this was obvious and it was a bit of an insult that even he even had to say it to them. Ron was wondering when Harry had started talking like this. Then again, this was probably one of his lesser concerns at that moment.

“I'll help you,” Hermione said with enough sincerity to sink an ocean liner, her face a mask of total seriousness. Harry smiled.

“I know you will. I know you both will. My friends. Honoured friends! I wouldn't trust anyone else. Not with this! Too important. And we have much we need to do. This is just beginning.”

Harry broke out into giggles following this, and Hermione quickly caught them as well. The two of them doubled up over the table and Harry knocked his plate to the floor. People looked, but that didn't stop them. Ron sat and twiddled his thumbs, mouthing apologies at anyone he saw staring as he waited for it all to die down. Some time later it started trailing off.

“But no, there is much to do. We should resume immediately,” Harry said, wiping at tear of mirth from his eye. Ron felt he should probably try to do something to put the brakes on this whole affair.

“I really don't think this is a good idea, you know,” he said as gently as he could. Hermione rounded on him and looked for all the world like she was about to smack him across the face before Harry raised a hand. She paused, fury still written across her every feature, clearly unwilling to act without Harry's say-so. This was an uncomfortable change in character to observe in her and made Ron far more nervous than the prospect of being hit even did. 

“Hermione, patience. Our friend is still tied into his flesh-centric way of thinking. It's understandable. In time he shall come to understand the truth of iron, in time. For now though, we have practical problems and we need to rectify.”

This he said while pointing at Hermione, lowering his finger and having her lower her fist as he did so until both were safely back beneath the table. Harry nodded at this and got up to leave, wiping his mouth with the back of his arm and dropping his fork to the floor. Someone would pick it up. Probably. 

Hermione waited until Harry's back was turned before snatching Ron by the collar and pulling him in close enough that she could hiss in his face without Harry noticing.

“I'm watching you.”

Ron very much believed this.

Before long all three were back in Harry's workshop. Ron – who was stood off to the side while the other two communicated in a language that made his skin crawl whenever he listened too closely – wondered what this room had been before Harry found it. The idea that maybe it and everything inside it had been like this already and had just been waiting for someone to find it was not a good idea. Not to him, at least. Who'd put it all here? Hogwarts was a nightmare of things that had no place around children.

Ron thought, perhaps, now might be a good time to find a teacher and tell them something was happening. That would be the sensible thing to do. Then again, very little of anything they'd done over the years had been sensible and none of them had ever grassed one another up before. Was he going to be the first to crack? No. No he was not. Things would work out. They always did. Just had to stay the course, not be such a stick in the mud. Right? Right. He wandered over.

“So...how's it going?” He asked, unsure of how else to slot himself into the conversation. The other two stopped and turned, eyes wide. Hermione's left eye was bleeding again, though not as badly as before. That, at least, was progress of a sort.

“We're considering issues of control,” Harry said, straightening up and rolling his shoulders. He and Hermione had been bent over a table strewn with oddly shaped instruments and hastily-scrawled scraps of parchment in the middle of which was sat the book. Ron tried not to look at the book.

“Oh, uh, what issues?” Ron asked, casually. 

“If you'd been listening you'd know,” Hermione snapped, wiping some of the blood away. Harry tutted.

“Now now, what did I say? Patience. We're a team! Must act like a team. Move like a team! Though it would be helpful if you looked at the book, Ron,” he said, eyebrows waggling. Ron swallowed.

“Nah, I'm – ah – I'm good. Just, you know, tell me what the problem is. I can help.”

For a moment it looked as though this had been the exact opposite of what he should have said as Harry's expression danced on the knife-edge between shrugging acceptance and absolute, spitting fury. Then he just shrugged and smiled again.

“Fair enough,” he said, wandering off in such a way that almost compelled the other two to follow. It wasn't a long wander, just across the workshop. He ended up by the trussed-up iron humanoid figure. Running a hand tenderly across it's crudely-forged chest for a moment he then turned back to look at them again.

“Now I did say I was building and army and this remains true, but it will not look like this. Not exactly, at least,” he said, gesturing behind him. 

“You really are making an army?” Ron asked. Harry looked at him so hard Ron took a step back.

“This is war, Ron. We must have an army. The Ministry isn't doing anything so we have to do something ourselves. Dumbledore has his hands tied by his position, we are free to act.”

The serious look cracked and a smile spread across Harry's face.

“Dumbledore's Army...” he said, eyes wandering as he stared into space, lost in what was clearly an intense and vivid bout of thinking. “That's it. That's it! I shall dedicate my army to Dumbledore!”

“I can see this working out wonderfully,” Ron said and this time neither of the other two seemed to notice or to care, letting him get away with it. 

“My first son is but a prototype, he isn't meant to be perfect. This is unfortunate but unavoidable. In my eagerness and my haste I have made mistakes,” Harry said. Hermione was set to leap to his defence but he saw this coming and silenced her with a look. “I can admit my mistakes, Hermione. But thank you for what were likely to have been very kind words.”

Hermione looked very pleased with herself and even gave Ron a smug look. He wasn't really sure what he was supposed to feel jealous of her for here but played along as best he could. Best not to rock the boat, he felt.

Harry did not (or chose not to) notice any of this though and just kept going, turning again to his prototype with a dissatisfied look.

“A litany of my failures. Excusable, yes. Expected, yes. But still. Painful to see. And so obvious! Look how heavily I've built him! An army could not be so impractical. And these sigils are inches out of place! I put nowhere near enough blood into him, too. He suffices yes and is a good proof of concept, but no, not for full-scale production. We can improve. We shall improve.”

Moving off again he headed over to another table, this one in the far corner of the workshop. Lamps dangling from the ceiling flickered into life at his approach with any apparent effort on his part as he pushed aside empty ink bottles and blunted quills to roll out more parchment. On it were what appeared to be schematics. They were the neatest looking things Ron had seen on parchment in this room so far. Something that an awful lot of care and attention had gone into.

“This is my new design. Slimmed down, as you can see. Better sigil placement. My understanding of the book has grown, you see? It speaks to me as I sleep and as I think. It corrects me, gently. Guides me. So I have seen how best to go from here, and it is this way,” Harry said, jabbing at the parchment with a finger. Peering over his shoulder Ron saw measurements and inscrutable writing and what looked like a very skeletal looking, man-shaped thing.

“We'll start with one, of course. My second son. We'll see how it works out and move from there. Time is of the essence, of course. Rust never sleeps!” He cackled, turning back to them so suddenly that Ron flinched.

“We'll start immediately! Anything you need us to do, we'll do it!” Hermione said with a proud step forward, clearly unable to hold herself back anymore. Ron also stepped forward, though with somewhat less obvious pride.

“Oh yeah. Anything you need,” he said.

Harry beamed and took them both by the shoulder. Once again his grip was far, far too hard.

“We need iron.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where is this going?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things continue to go downhill?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I enjoying this?

Being an old castle, Hogwarts had a surprising amount of iron just lying around once you started looking for it. Acquiring it was something else. People would surely notice if you started ripping up pipes and taking the fittings off the doors, Ron felt, so he figured he had to be rather more subtle about it. 

This was difficult. There was always someone around when he found something that looked like it wouldn't be missed and always no-one around when confronted with enormous things he had no hope of taking back to the workshop. This seemed unfair to Ron. Like life had dealt him a bad hand. 

It wasn't like he could take his task at leisure either. Harry was very sure to remind him of this every time he came back with a meagre handful of scraps and rust.

“Time is of the essence, Ron!” He would state in dire tones. Harry very rarely wore a shirt these days, at least in the workshop. And since he spent almost all the time he could there, that meant very little shirt time. This added a very awkward aspect to any conversation Ron had with him. He was never sure where to look. Harry really needed to eat more.

“Yeah I know but, you know, people are using this stuff around the castle. It's not just sitting around waiting for me to pick it up. What am I meant to do?”

“Use your imagination! This is our last shot at a free world, Ron! A world with evil cleansed! A world made safe and strong with the purity of iron! This is not a chance to be wasted.”

“Alright, I guess...” Ron would say before going back out and trying again. He managed to find and nab two kettles from the divination classroom, figuring they wouldn't be missed. Smuggling them out was difficult. It was one of the days Ron was truly appreciative of the practical aspects of a cloak, although it was actually more down to luck that he wasn't caught. Harry was very pleased with the kettles and with Ron's apparent increase in boldness.

Of course, despite all of Ron's caution, Hermione had no such reservations. Ron even observed her pulling the nails from the floorboards at one point. She just got down onto her hands and knees and started doing it. People were there. They didn't know what to do. Why she got down and used her hands when she could have just used magic was unclear. When Ron pointed this out to her she just hissed at him again, so he thought it best to let her do her thing.

“Hermione was, uh, collecting nails. Just with her fingers,” he told Harry at the next available opportunity. Harry – who was by now almost always reading the book or fiddling with a mould or adjusting some intricate piece of indecipherable mechanics – didn't bother looking up to reply.

“That's enthusiasm! You could learn from her, Ron!” He said. This was not the resposne Ron had really wanted and he couldn't help but grit his teeth before responding.

“But we're wizards. And it's attracting attention,” he said.

“Did anyone stop her?”

“No, but-” Ron started but did not finish.

“Then it is not a problem and you should stop bothering me with it.”

The way Harry said this made it very clear that any further discussion on the point would be a bad idea. Ron knew better than to push his luck, bit his tongue, and slunk off. The disadvantage of having such a tiny knot of close friends being of course that he had no-one really so slink off with. Who was he going to kvetch about his circumstances to? Seamus? Unlikely.

Briefly he tried looking through the library for anything about living iron or books about living iron but he didn't get very far. He wasn't even sure where to start. He mostly just picked the likeliest sounding book – Secrets of Metal by Balthasar Gelt – and stared at it in the hopes an answer would jump out at him. It did not, and he had to leave when Pince's glares became too much to withstand. She much care for like timewasters or loiterers, apparently. 

By the time he got back Hermione had also returned, and both she and Harry looked up as he arrived.

“Where were you? We have all we need!” Harry declared, wounded. Ron could only shrug but by the time he did Harry had already moved on.

The collected scrap and debris was sitting in a heap in front of Harry who himself was perched on a stool. Bending down he stuck a hand in – uncaring of the rather nasty cut he got in the process from a stray nail – and pulled out what looked like a door bracket. This caused the heap to collapse, which was deafening. Ron flinched but neither Harry or Hermione cared in the slightest even. Both were clearly far too excited. 

Putting the bracket to one side Harry did one final check through everything to be doubly sure it was all viable and acceptable, even though everyone knew it already was. He checked anyway. He clearly thought it was important. Every last piece was peered at and sorted out, the heap becoming several distinct, neat piles.

“There, much better,” harry said once he was done. He had several more cuts now and was bleeding openly but didn't seem to have noticed. Ron saw Hermione lick her lips and he stood a little further away than he had been standing to start with.

The arm that Harry had surprised Ron with the first time was also added alongside the piles and it flexed piteously, almost as if it knew what was going to happen. To Ron's eyes it almost looked as though it was trying to crawl away. 

“Is it supposed to still be moving like that?” He asked. He still wasn't entirely clear on what any of this meant or how any of it worked. Hermione tutted in exasperation and Harry just rolled his eyes.

“Living iron, Ron – living! You'd understand if you'd just look at the book. Even without my will directing it the iron retains enough life to move. Blood has a life and a will all its own, as you can see!” He said, expression darkening as his eyes moved to the prototype still chained up on the other side of the workshop.

“I feel I may not have put enough blood into that one. We shall see.”

“Is that bad?” Ron asked.

“We shall see,” Harry repeated, and that was that. Further discussion on the subject was forestalled by Harry leaping to his feet and dashing off across the workshop to get the forges up and running, a task Hermione was more than happy to assist with. Ron, for his part, was more than happy to just watch. Horses for courses, he said. To himself.

The forge looked angry. Ron did not have extensive experience with forges or forging equipment or anything to do with metalworking, really, but he was fairly certain it shouldn't look quite so angry. It seemed to be growling at him, even from across the room. Harry and Hermione were unaffected and gleefully started feeding the metal in. Was that how that worked? Apparently so. It looked happier now it had been fed thought Ron before shaking his head to try and clear that kind of thinking away. Forges – or whatever this thing was – did not have feelings and did not get hungry.

He did his best to stay out of the way. He imagined he would just get in the way even if he wanted to help and they didn't seem to want him pitching in anyway. Molten metal did not smell the way Ron expected it to, but it certainly made the room heat up. Ron was quickly sweating his way through his robes even clear across the room. Then the other two – about halfway through the pile of metal – started stripping down and Ron really felt he should take a step back.

“I'm just going to, uh, get some air. Okay?” He asked. They did not respond.

Back in the corridor everything was blissfully cool. Ron mopped his brow with the back of one sleeve while leaning against a wall. This was starting to get out of hand. Maybe this was the point he told someone in a position of authority? Or was the caper now at the crucial stage where it looked shaky but was actually about to bear fruit? It was so hard to tell. Normally he'd have the others to maybe help him out a little but right now that wasn't really an option.

He had the creeping, gnawing realisation that of the three of them he was currently the most capable and the most grounded in reality. While the later wasn't that special the former sent a shiver up his spine – a shiver of low-self worth and of actual concern. This was serious. This was different. This wasn't like anything he had prior experience of. Which was saying something, given his academic adventuring record.

In the way of coincidence that marked all of Ron's (and Harry's and Hermione's) years at Hogwarts, someone he knew was taking that moment to walk down the very same corridor. A shortcut, they'd felt, with no intention of seeing anyone. Malfoy was delighted to find Ron alone – a ripe target for a snide remark, even if he wasn't feeling that up to it. Wouldn't do to pass up such an opportunity. He eyed up his target, took in the pertinent details and snapped off:

“Been caught in the rain, Weasly? Oh wait, that's sweat. Dear me...” 

It wasn't his best, but then again he was having an off-day by his standards so he couldn't be relied upon to bring his A-game. That was his excuse, at least.

Ron was so lost in thought that the remark passed him by completely. He was barely even listening. Malfoy looked genuinely surprised at the lack of an immediate response. It took Ron a second or so to clock this and he snapped back to the present.

“Oh, uh, right. Shove off, Malfoy,” he said, but his heart really wasn't in it.

Malfoy was put onto the back foot almost immediately. Was this some kind of ruse? Ron seemed to be quite sincere in his consternation and his snapback lacked the usual crude charm. There was just no fire. It was weird to experience.

“Are you...are you alright?” He asked despite himself and without even really thinking.

The two of them stood and stared at one another as the sheer, overpowering awkwardness of the moment overwhelmed them both. Neither was able to think of anything good to make a comeback. Ron because he was too sweaty and too worried, Malfoy because he was too shocked by his own words and too tired from a very poor night's sleep.

The two settled – without a word passing between them – on looking away and pretending it had never happened. 

It was for the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I enjoying anything?


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of this nonsense.
> 
> It is going somewhere. Honest. I think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Restrained and roasted while they gorge  
> Strapped into the seat

By the time Ron finally ventured back inside all the metal had disappeared and the forge looked practically bloated. Hermione was stood by it, poking and stirring with a long stick that somehow wasn't melting or on fire. Ron had given up trying to object to how things were working in the workshop so just shrugged it off.

Harry was off by a bench, sitting in front of a set of scales and concentrating intensely. As Ron closed the distance he could see that one side was a handful of small, iron weights and on the other a small bowl filled with something dark. The bulk of Harry's concentration seemed to be on the bowl, occasionally flicking over to the weights and in so doing seeming to be discourage by the unequal relationship between the two.

“Uh, how's it going?” Ron asked, casually. He tried to find a place to put his hand so he could lean in a care-free fashion but he just disturbed something that clattered to he floor. Ron settled on just standing with his hands in his pockets. That was casual. Harry did not look up.

“Alright. This is delicate.”

“Oh, no doubt, no doubt...” Ron said, as though he had an idea what was going on. He balked and went a particular shade of white when he saw Harry raised an enormous, jagged, cruel looking knife that had been in his free hand and beneath the worktop the whole time. Ron swallowed.

“Where did you get that?” He asked. Harry – the tip of the blade poised over the palm of his other hand blinked and then looked at the knife, at which Ron was pointing. From the look on his face he seemed surprised- to be holding it at all.

“It was just here in the workshop. A little OTT, but it works. I'm measuring out blood, you see? Better than fingernails! Trust me.” 

His tone suggested he was speaking from experience. Ron felt it best not to press the issue. Instead he just watched with mounting queasiness as Harry turned his hand upwards and cut open a thick wodge of scabs right in the middle of the palm. With that done he turned it back over again and squeezed the flow out into the bowl. Carefully. In measured squeezes. 

By degrees the scales shifted, though nowhere near enough blood had gone in for that to have happened. Harry's face a mask of focus, eyes narrowed as he meticulously monitored every drop. Somehow, he got it to balance.

“There! Perfect! Add this to the mix, Hermione,” he said, lifting up the bowl and holding it out. Hermione all-but hurled herself across the workshop to take it from him, returning back to the forge with far more caution – pausing only to throw yet another dirty look at Ron, who was rapidly becoming numb to them. 

With Harry no longer occupied, Ron felt that perhaps it was a good moment to discuss things. Tactfully. He cleared his throat.

“So...” he said, still casual. “I was thinking...”

“Always a dangerous thing to be doing, Ron!” Harry said. In jest, presumably. Ron pressed on:

“I, uh – I understand that this is very important. I get that! I was just thinking that maybe spending a little less time in here might be an idea. Just a little less. Just a tad.”

Ron hoped he was striking the right tone of diplomacy and understanding. Harry just looked baffled. Not even upset, just plain confused.

“Why on earth would I do that? What out there could matter to me now? What we're achieving right here is all that matters. What could I be doing out there?” He asked, brow furrowed. Ron didn't know if it was the work Harry was doing or just the workshop itself but Harry was already looking filthy. Even from where Ron was sitting he could see Hermione's hair had become a matted nightmare. He wondered if he looked like that too, just from coming into the room.

Ron tried not to think about it. Best not to get sidetracked. He shook his head.

“I'm not saying this isn't what we should be doing. I don't think that! Just, uh, people are going to start talking, you know,” he said. Harry's face darkened and Ron wondered which words he'd picked that were wrong.

“Let people talk! The opinions of the masses are of no concern. My work is too important,” Harry said. Hermione was back by his side again having slithered silently over some seconds before without Ron even noticing until she was already there.

“You shouldn't bother him, he doesn't need distractions!” She hissed. Ron's teeth ground together.

“Yeah, but,” he grumbled, only for an idea to come up and hit him over the back of the head. “But if people talk too much they might start poking into what you're doing. Might start making problems, yeah?”

Harry's eyes narrowed.

“How do you mean?”

His tone was a dangerous one. There was something Ron had never heard in Harry's voice before. Ever. It was the sort of voice he'd expect to hear from someone who would do anything to get what they wanted without even thinking twice. Not what he'd expect to hear from his friend. Ron suppressed a shiver. 

“I mean, you know, they might start poking around. Might start sticking their noses in where they don't belong.”

More glaring from both Harry and Hermione. Ron pressed on. 

“And everyone'll love what you're doing here – they will! - but if they find it right now they might not, uh, understand it that well. You know? And they might start mucking about with it. Which would, uh, be, ah...bad?”

Deathly silence descended. Ron swallowed. The other two stared, hard. Ron wondered if this was how an ant felt when the shadow of a boot fell across them.

“He's got a point,” Hermione said, eventually, turning to Harry as she spoke. Harry grunted and then sighed, pushing his glasses up out of the way and rubbing his face. All his energy seemed to have left him at once. He positively sagged.

“He's got a point,” he said. Ron relaxed. He relaxed so much it was a struggle not to lie down and take a nap on the spot. He didn't though. That would have been a bit weird.

“Right. I'm just saying guys, if you go too hard on this too soon then you might end up shooting yourselves in the foot. I know we're on the clock here but, you know, pacing. Right?” Ron said. He felt he might pressing his luck a little far but his confidence had been given a boost and he felt he could handle it. To his delight the pair of them nodded, though they clearly weren't happy about it.

“So what do you think we should do?” Hermione asked, and not with dripping sarcasm or obvious hostility. This made a change from the last day or so. Ron looked around the dingy workshop. He really hated this place.

“Well, you got all that metal done, right?” He asked. She nodded. “Well then we should probably get out. Get something to eat maybe. Maybe go to a lesson! Before people start talking, like I said. Or, uh what time is it – okay no lessons, but a walk at least. Before people start thinking you've just disappeared.”

“A walk doesn't sound too bad...” Harry admitted, scratching his face.

“Fresh air would make a change...” Hermione said.

Ron smiled. This was working out far better than he could have expected. He even clapped his hands together, which made the other two jump.

“Good! So why don't we all, you know, have a quick shower and then just take a walk? Clear our heads. It'll be good. And then tomorrow we should probably think about going to some lessons. I'm amazed we aren't in more trouble already,” he said. 

It was likely that they would very quickly get into trouble when they showed up again and that the only reason they'd so-far avoided punishment was because they'd been hiding in a dingy, sweltering workshop no-one knew existed. But Ron could live with that.

Harry whipped a finger up under Ron's nose so quickly he could have sworn he blinked and missed his arm moving. All of his sense of triumph vanished and was replaced again with an intense, bowel-clenching nervousness. Not helped at all by the angle Harry had chosen to keep his head at, which kept his face hidden in the shadows cast by the forge. How that worked was anyone's guess.

“But we do not stop work on this. It's too important,” he said. Ron held his hands up.

“Wouldn't dream of it!” He said. Harry kept his accusing finger levelled for a moment or two more before lowering it and clapping Ron on the shoulder.

“Good,” he said.

And off they went.

**Author's Note:**

> And nothing of value was lost.


End file.
